


Blind Trust?

by ReneeMR



Category: Highlander
Genre: Adult Situations, Highlander - Freeform, M/M, Secret characters, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-06-08
Updated: 2002-06-08
Packaged: 2017-10-04 04:25:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReneeMR/pseuds/ReneeMR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You think you know them. But do you really?  Do you trust me?  The pairing is listed at the end.  But the story is meant to be read without peeking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blind Trust?

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

The bar was warm after the misty chill of the early evening. And dark. A good place for trysting, no doubt. The tall, lanky, dark-haired man stopped just inside the door. Shook the condensation from his coat. Looked around the almost deserted place.

Blue neon reflected off the cigar smoke that wreathed the heads of the bartender and the single patron seated before him. The newcomer strolled over and took the stool one to the left of the other man.

He took a minute to peruse his bar mate. Dark. With strong, brooding good looks. The black tee shirt he wore did nothing to diminish those looks. Or disguise the toned condition of the other's arms and torso. The two men nodded. Then the younger-looking man turned away.

"Draft," he said succinctly to the barkeep. In a distinct British accent.

"Coming up," the man replied. Then he slipped an almost headless brew onto the bar.

"Perfect." A brand-new hundred dollar bill was negligently tossed out. "Keep them coming." He glanced over at the other patron. "For both of us."

"Sure thing, buddy. Thanks."

"Yeah, thanks." The man held out his glass for a refill. Scotch. Straight up. The bartender complied. Then excused himself. The desultory waitress came over to watch the till. Bored, she stood and buffed her incredibly long fake nails.

The Brit looked at his drinking companion. A long, appraising look. Then he slid onto the bar stool next to the man. He picked up his beer and drank down a good half in one long swallow. He set the mug down.

"Bar man, it's too quiet in here. How about some music?"

"Jukebox over in the corner. Help yourself," came a somewhat muffled voice from what was obviously the storeroom.

Rising, the Brit dug into his jeans pocket and came out with a hand full of change. He started toward the juke. Stopped. Glanced back at the other man. "Got any requests?"

The man turned slowly on his stool. He nodded once. "M-69. You can play M-69 for me." The voice was low and sounded like a caress.

"Ah, uh, um, yeah, I can do that..." With a bemused smile on his face, he went and loaded coins and punched in his selections.

The music started and the man began his stroll back to his stool. Only to stop when he recognized the tune. And the words. "Ooh, ooh, pain is so close to pleasure, oh yeah..." Well. A message song. How--quaint. He smirked and sat down. He put the leftover change on the bar between himself and the other man. "You choose next time."

The Brit drank down the rest of his first beer. He tapped his mug on the bar, and the waitress came around and poured him another. This one quiet a bit headier. He sighed and leaned back.

The song played on.

 

Business in the bar picked up marginally as the dinner hour came and went. One or two couples, but mostly singles. On their way home from work.

But by nine it was back to the bartender, the waitress, and the two customers. M-69 was playing again. The heap of change was gone. The bar was littered with bits of pretzels and popcorn and peanuts. It was time to do--something. The Brit looked over at his bar mate. He wasn't drunk, and it didn't look like he was going to be. Okay. Fine.

"You having relationship trouble?" He nodded in the direction of the jukebox.

There was a long pause, a sigh, and then the other man turned to face him. "Not yet. But I can see it coming. You get to know the signs after it happens over and over."

"You mean you...?"

"Yeah. He leaves. I take him back. Every time." The man shrugged, and looked away. "I love him."

"Oh." Shit. "Well, he's an ass. An idiot to treat you like that. You deserve better."

Dark eyes turned to study the other man. "Thanks."

"Ah, look, I've got to be going. Can I give you a lift?"

Eyes so dark they looked black in the dim light of the bar peered into lighter ones. A significant look passed between the men. A nod, and they both rose. Thighs brushed together as they did. Both men flushed at their first contact.

The Brit put another large bill on the bar, and followed the other man out. He walked over to his vehicle and opened the passenger door. "Your chariot awaits," he quipped.

A genuine smile was his reward. And he found himself smiling back.

Once they were settled in their seats, he looked over at the man. "Where to?"

His passenger didn't answer at once. Instead he looked out of the window. He sighed, then turned to look at the other man. "Your place. Okay?"

"Sure. That's fine. Good."

 

The scent of the damp men was almost overwhelming in the elevator. They stood as far from each other as was possible in the confined space. As the doors opened onto the brightly lit hallway, they both breathed a sigh of relief.

Moving quickly, the Brit went and unlocked his door. Then moved back so his visitor could enter first.

The other man stopped and looked around at the eclectic furnishings. "Nice."

"Thanks. Take your coat?" A nod, then a shrug and they both slipped off their damp outerwear.

That done, they went into the living room and the dark man took a seat on the couch.

"Anything I can get? Coffee, beer, scotch...?"

"You?"

"Yes. I think I can arrange that." The Brit moved to stand in front of his visitor and reached down to take his face between his hands. He ran his thumbs over full lips, then leaned in for a kiss. "Ummh."

"You taste--so good." The dark man reached out to take hold of his host's hips. "More?"

"As much as you want. Whatever you want." Hazel eyes suddenly sparkled with hints of green. Without conscious thought, the man moved closer. Staring into the eyes of his companion, he slowly lowered himself to kneel astride the other's lap. He leaned in, pressed groin to chest against him, and kissed him slowly. Lingeringly.

One hand took a hold in the long dark hair. The other wandered sensuously down his chest to caress a tightened nipple.

"God damn..."

"Shh." Another kiss was laid on luscious lips. "Save that for later."

 

He heard the sound of the lift, and felt the presence at about the same time. Looked up from the computer. "Methos."

"Who else?"

Duncan MacLeod shrugged. "Nobody. I guess." He watched as the other man took off his coat and slung it onto the rack. Stopped long enough to toe off his boots. Then went straight to the refrigerator.

Methos got out a beer, looked back at MacLeod, and at a nod grabbed another. He took the beer to the Scot and stood there looking at him.

The Highlander had obviously just taken a shower. His hair was still damp. Methos could see beads of moisture on his neck. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "New shampoo? I like it." The old man bent down to sniff the younger man's hair.

"Fuck you, Methos!" The Highlander shoved him away and stood up. "You smell like cheap sex!" His eyes blazed.

"Oh? Really? Well, it wasn't cheap, Mac. Not by any stretch of the imagination."

"You bastard. Who'd you fuck Methos? Huh? Some whore?" Eyes narrowed as the Scot looked him over. "No. No, you went out and got fucked."

"Yes." Methos shrugged. Turned away. But before he could move more than a few steps, he was grabbed by the arm. Spun around.

"Who was it, Methos?" Strong, callused hands caught his wrists.

"A guy, MacLeod. As you said, a whore." The old man shoved against his captor. Hard.

MacLeod went down in a graceless sprawl. His white terry robe bunched around his waist exposing him to the other man's avid gaze.

"You fucking tease." Methos went for him then, and the two men grappled for dominance, rolling across the loft floor. Somewhere along the way, both of them managed to lose their clothes.

Hands slipped on sweaty bodies. Neither was able to get control. What Methos lacked in mass, he made up for in wiriness. MacLeod could never get a good enough hold to take command.

They ended up wedged between the couch and the coffee table. With the old man on top of MacLeod. He grabbed a handful of long hair and used it to bash the Scot's head on the hardwood floor.

"Is...this...what you...want..." he panted. "Rough...hard..." He smashed the man's head again.

Groaning, the younger man made one last valiant attempt to throw Methos off him. He arched up. Methos slammed down, impaling himself on MacLeod. Then he slumped forward. Barely holding on to the bucking man beneath him.

"God, yes! Fuck!" He continued to shout hoarsely as Methos rocked him into oblivion.

 

"Pizza?"

"That's the only thing that delivers this late, Methos."

The old man came out of the bath and eased himself down onto the bed. He leaned back against the pillows and sighed dramatically.

Grinning, MacLeod handed his lover a hefty slice of the pizza. And a beer. Then he settled cross-legged on the bed beside Methos.

They ate in companionable silence. But from time to time they shared glances and touches that spoke volumes.

Still, the Scot wanted more. "So, did you enjoy it?"

Methos pretended to consider the matter. But his eyes sparkled with mischief. He tossed his half-eaten piece of pizza into the box, and moved to take his lover into his arms. "You know I did, Mac." He kissed him soundly.

"But god, 'M-69?'"

The Scot just laughed. "Yeah, I know. You should have seen Joe's face when I asked him to set that up."

 

End

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, it was Methos and Duncan all along.


End file.
